They slipped from the trees, some dropping from the branches and others simply striding into the flickering ghostlight of Bodicea's presence. Yet they had a light of their own, a cascading, golden sparkle that shimmered in their wake as they moved, not unlike the pixie dust that sprayed off a sprite's wings.

There were six of them, all told, each more beautiful and terrible than the last. Their eyes were forest green and their bodies lithe and elegant. Unearthly flowers were twined in their hair and their gowns were woven of some fabric more delicate than spiders' webs. The sight of them made Tamara catch her breath, and then one-the tallest and most regal among them, who wore a red-bladed sword at her side-stepped forward and the others inclined their heads in respect for her.

"You come without invitation, sorceress," said the Faerie princess, and her eyes narrowed to slits, fingers stroking the hilt of that crimson-bladed sword. "As a thief, you come to steal my children.